it's one minute just watch it.

-Afrika.

- me:

- claire:
-my neurotic/ ocd tendencies have been put to the test, as both of my internships have given me the task of re-shelving their disorganized libraries. (i work in books. this means there are a lot of them.) i have equipped myself with an arsenal of highlighters, printouts, and step-ladders. still needed: a helmet, because books keep falling on my head =(.

attempts at being a blog

I wrote this when I was in Cape Town last year. I don't know how much I like it but I was going through old stuff and thought I'd share.

Power Lines

Begin anywhere. Climb up through the cold steel frames that rise from the dirt, from the grass, from the pavement—glimmering and imposing in the sun. Surge through steady parallel wires—thin and kinked, but sure in their path as they cut through the South African landscape. Soar through a blue sky, uninterrupted except for you, over grassy hills dotted with purple and yellow flowers. Soar over sunken playgrounds rising up from grass, over children swinging high, their stomachs and hearts suspended in the air. Look down as you rush through the sky; see grass that is scattered with shiny bits of broken glass, glimmering amongst tall, uncut blades.

Diverge amongst the wires and find yourself racing in a hundred directions—over the bright, candy colored houses of Bo-Kaap, each street a glossy array of painted dwellings. Race along the water’s edge, following the railroad tracks through sunny, windy, costal towns. Or fly over the vast and empty desert, watching the soil change colors and farmers tend to their cattle as you pass under bright white clouds, low and big in the sky. Pass over flea markets, over vendors selling wooden giraffes and soda can flowers, beaded necklaces and colorful prints. Wind around Table Mountain, shrouded in a wispy blanket of fog. Pass over the single story houses nestled unobtrusively on the side of the mountain in a lush, thriving green. Rush through bustling cities, through financial districts, suburbs, and shopping centers. Pass over taxis swerving through the roads; pass over men at intersections, smiling into car windows at cold faces, at passengers uninterested in their wares. Pass over government buildings, over parliament, over officials, over documents filled with plans, with promises.

Slow down as you make your way over the townships, vast and expansive under a cotton ceiling of clouds. Pass over their patchwork of rusted metal and faded pastels, over houses low and quiet and angry and resigned, growing from the ground, becoming the ground. Pass over horses grazing and stray dogs chasing. Pass over piles of trash and bones, over garments hung and blowing in the wind, meager and unassuming as their colors slowly fade in the sun. Pass over a woman and her child, wide-eyed and slung tight across her back. Pass over school children returning home, their uniforms bright and clean and hopeful.

Surge and pulse over a never-ending landscape, safe in your insulated wires. Find your way across highways and streets, into neighborhoods and homes. Give power to office buildings, tall and looming. Power computers and DVD players. Power flat screen televisions, power X-boxes. Power electric fences. Power cell phones, power kettles. Power hotplates for a family’s one hot meal for the day. Power lights, power heat. Power life.

Begin anywhere—in a night sky, dotted with stars; on a freeway, lit with rows of orange lights. Begin in rolling hills, in flat desert sand, in rich green fields. Begin in city centers, or in small rural towns, in a one-room school house or a prominent university. Begin anywhere and end in the flick of a switch, lighting a room. End in a turn of a dial, starting a stove, or in a push of a button, turning on a radio. Begin anywhere and end in rooms full of laughter and chatter, full of sadness, full of hardship, full of struggle, full of the past, full of hope. Begin anywhere and end everywhere. End in homes, quiet with sleep and the hushed sound of steady breathing, waiting for the morning.

hello, lover

upgrade.

i cleaned out my gmail archives and deleted over 1000 e-mails. then i re-organized and color-coded my labeling system as to make it relevant to my current life.

mondays at my publishing internship i work in managing editorial, which entails a lot of proofreading. one thing i have to do is scan the right side texts and look for "stacks," which occur when the same word appears at the end of three lines, consecutively. this is maybe one of my favorite parts of monday.

today colin made everyone chocolate chip banana pancakes for breakfast for steph's birthday.

a few weeks ago

we had couch surfers from ukraine:

hello tomorrow

The last year of school starts today. This semester I plan on taking all Gallatin classes, interning at Farrar, Straus, and Giroux publishing house and photo department at The New Yorker magazine, waitressing at Chevy's on the weekends, preparing for my colloquium, cooking dinner and going to yoga every week, playing with/worshiping my new Nikon D80, writing more, wearing my summer clothes until the last possible day and then a few days more, basking in the love and craziness of my roommates, continuing to color-code my notes and read things that aren't required when I don't have the time, flossing on a regular basis, and being an overall productive person. Also, I might sleep and perhaps update this blog.

I didn't think it could happen, but this summer beat its predecessor by at least a dozen cupcakes. I came back to New York after nine months abroad and binged on this city. The past three months were characterized by equal parts science movies at the museum of natural history and questionable activities of a less tame nature. So maybe my roommates and I might have jumped off the deep end, splashed around for a little bit and swallowed too much water towards the end, but all in all we're emerging intact and maybe even with a little tan.

goodbye, summer.
it's been a number of adjectives,
and i loved them all.